


Soft Private Places

by theemdash



Series: Unfaithful Trilogy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Confessions, Established Relationship, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Rough Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash/pseuds/theemdash
Summary: When Sirius comes home late and smelling of alcohol, Remus isn't expecting the confession. (AU timeline from OotP, set in 2005.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone story. The first part essentially acts as a prequel, and the second part follows the other couple. When read as a series, this is the third and final part.  
> This takes place in an alternate timeline from OotP, set in 2005.  
> Special thanks to faithsqueen for betaing duties.

He comes in shortly before dawn. Remus barely hears him, but the air in the house feels different when Sirius is there. There's a warmth that dispels the loneliness still remembered from the twelve years Sirius was in Azkaban. There is want and need, and it's good—feelings Remus thrives on now. 

He stays still when the door opens, the cool air tickling his exposed back. He's taken to sleeping in the nude again; with Sirius there is no need for clothes, usually Sirius pulls them off in the middle of the night, sometimes accompanied by a soft laugh and the insistence that body heat is better for keeping warm.

Sirius's boots hit the ground, a muttered curse, and then the sounds of a leather jacket, a zipper, and bare feet padding across the floor.

Remus's nose twitches—alcohol, lots of it.

He wants to turn, to blink bleary eyes at Sirius and ask where he's been, what he's been doing, who he's been drinking with. Remus doesn't move.

The bed dips low on the side, but Sirius doesn't lie back. He left the door open and the nighttime chill creeps into their bedroom, destroying the comfortable cocoon Remus created. 

The hand on his back starts his heart. He flinches enough to give himself away, so he turns his head, opening his eyes.

"Sorry, Moony," Sirius whispers. He's still wearing his shirt, the collar flipped up in an annoying way.

"Was awake," Remus mumbles into the pillow. He shifts and tugs his hand from under his stomach. He touches Sirius's bare thigh, rubbing his hands along the course hair. He indulges himself, allowing a sleepy admission, "I miss you when you're gone."

Sirius swallows down hard—it sounds suspiciously like a sob.

Remus turns to his side, lifting up and folding the pillow under his head. "Padfoot?"

Sirius rubs up and down Remus's side. He turns his face away.

The silence fills the space between them. Remus shifts, the bed suddenly lumpy. Even though he's cold, he doesn't pull up the sheets.

Remus replays the moments in his mind, noting each second of wrongness—Sirius coming in late; Sirius smelling of alcohol; Sirius leaving his shirt on, the door open; apologizing.

"Why are you sorry?" he whispers. 

Sirius's hand tightens around Remus's arm, slides down to his wrist, massaging desperately. 

Remus's stomach churns and hardens. He wraps his arm around Sirius's thigh, feeling the need to hang on, to pull Sirius back. The silence is dragging Sirius away like death. The similarities to the time before Azkaban—those last few weeks before James and Lily died—is too striking. 

Remus can't breathe.

Sirius lets go and his hands move to his shirt, slowly moving down, stopping long enough to unfasten each button. His eyes meet Remus's as he pulls the shirt away from his chest, down his shoulders, off his arms, and drops it to the floor.

A dark mark at the base of his neck is visible even in the low light.

Remus hadn't known what to expect, but never this. Betrayal is etched in the air between them, something they had silently sworn to never do to each other. Their history—the years stretching from Hogwarts to Sirius's release from Azkaban—had made betrayal a tangible, terrible thing.

Sirius closes his eyes, and Remus nearly wraps Sirius in comforting arms. Even against the sight of a betrayal, Remus's first thought is to protect Sirius—his gut clenches against his need for this man.

"I . . ." Sirius breathes heavily. Words fail him as they usually do. Remus is the one who's good with words and he uses them sparingly because of it. Sirius taught him to speak through touch and since it's the language Sirius better understands, Remus has learned the intricacies of that form of communication, using it like it is his native tongue.

Remus rubs up and down the thigh, skirting his fingers over the insides of Sirius's leg, into the soft private places only lovers can touch.

The thought teases his mind like a viper that Remus may not be the only man to have touched there tonight.

He swallows the thought, letting it digest in stomach acid, burning away hatred, anger, and hurt. He trusts Sirius; he does. This little thing won't change that, won't seep into their touches, their kisses, their blood. This won't change everything. They've been through so much else.

Sirius's shoulders slack, his breath catching in his throat. Remus stills his hand, ready for Sirius to speak, to touch him back, to make things better.

"You wouldn't bite me," he breathes.

A punch to his gut would have been kinder, neater. The air sucks into Remus's lungs and he feels like the fish Sirius accidentally killed last week, gasping for air on the floor, surrounded by a thin layer of water and the broken remains of a home.

When Remus remembers to breathe, he remembers he is good with words.

"I _can't_ bite you." The snap is unintentional, but it feels good. Remus sits up, the sheets pooling in his lap. 

"I know," Sirius moans. He turns away, shrinking in on himself, and the cowardice is so un-Sirius that Remus flares.

"Are you daft? Do you have a death wish? Do you want to be _cursed_ for the rest of your _life_?" His fists clench, his whole body tightening, the adrenaline rushing his system.

"I know," Sirius moans again. "I just—" He turns his head over his shoulder; the corners of his eyes glistening. "I had a _need_."

Remus snarls and throws off the covers. The air chills his legs, but he doesn't stop. He paces the length of the bed twice, willing his temper back from a boil. His stomach is roiling enough that he gets heartburn. 

"I'm sorry, Moony." He looks down, his hair falling in front of his eyes in a way that Remus usually thinks is alluring.

Remus grabs the closest thing to him—a book of Irish folktales—and throws it at Sirius. It hits his shoulder and he turns, incredulity and hurt flashing over his pale face. 

"Don’t apologize," Remus growls. "Don't explain this."

Sirius's mouth hangs open. "I—You threw a book at me."

Remus glares at him. "My wand is across the room or else I would have hexed you."

The corner of Sirius's mouth twitches up; of course he would find that funny. "I wouldn't blame you." The action, the surprise, allows him to pull himself back together bit by bit.

"What were you thinking?" Remus's voice cracks unpleasantly. 

"I thought you didn't want me to explain." Sirius turns, tenting his leg and draping an elbow around his knee.

"I don't." Remus crosses to the far side of the room. His robe is hanging over the chair, a large overstuffed chair Sirius had dragged into the room just for Remus. He had explained that the chair was for reading, the bed for sex, and Remus was just going to have to learn to keep his books out of Sirius's love life.

"You cheated on me."

The chair is hideous, covered in a worn red and green plaid. Sirius promises to have it reupholstered, but after three years its ugliness blends into the background. It has become a thing of convenience.

"I did." Sirius stands, the bed springs creaking with relief. "I don't know what to say."

Remus shakes his head. His vision blurs; he doesn't want this. He feels off balance, but Sirius is next to him before he sways. Sirius's arms come around him, comforting him as only Sirius can. Remus exhales, feeling his body hollow, the next breath filling him with Sirius.

"I made a mistake," Sirius says urgently. "I made a mistake. He wasn't you; I wanted you and he wasn't. No one can be you." Sirius cups his face. "I just wanted all of you."

Remus chokes, coughing. "Sirius. I'm a _werewolf_ —I always will be—I _cannot_ bite you. Ever."

The muscles in Sirius's face relax as he says, "I know."

There is depth to the understanding and Remus cocks his head.

"I want that, too; the wolf inside. Remus, you never let go. You keep the control so close to the surface and I knew you'd never let go the way I want you to." Sirius strokes his face, tucking brown hair behind an ear, smoothing away creases that only return when Sirius's finger moves on. "But I made a mistake because no one will ever be you."

Remus closes his eyes, finally realizing the extent of his boyfriend's idiocy. "You had to go bugger someone else to figure that out?"

Sirius shifts, his skin reddening.

Remus shakes his head. "I trusted you, Sirius." He buries his head in Sirius's neck before realizing he's nuzzling into the dark hickey that evidences Sirius's betrayal. Remus laughs against it—his laugh high pitched and desperate.

"I thought you were the spy; that you'd betrayed us." Remus brings up the old wounds to hurt. Sirius acted foolishly so Remus permissions himself to be petty. "Now you've lived up to those expectations."

Sirius takes in a shaky breath and lets Remus break away. Remus goes to the door and shuts it. He can't bring himself to leave. He still needs for Sirius to need him. He's tethered to Sirius by this need. He plans to learn to hate himself for it.

"You seduced him? It was a him, right?"

Sirius is so shocked by the question he answers affirmatively right away.

"Show me how."

"Wha—?" 

Remus is against Sirius's body, writhing, pressing, licking and nipping the opposite side of his neck—staying away from the mark of the other. He hesitates before kissing, but keeps away from Sirius's mouth.

"Moony. Remus." Sirius's hands are fighting against Remus—holding him back, pushing him away, prying apart their bodies. "Remus!" 

Remus is forced back. He's panting partly from exertion, partly from desperation. He wants this. He wants to understand Sirius, to know what their relationship is lacking. His stare hardens. Sirius will not stop this from happening.

Sirius's face is relaxed. Just looking at him allows the tension to slip from Remus's shoulders. He's hypnotic, the dark hair sweeping into his eyes and framing his pale face, the insistent grey eyes that soften and flash at just the right moments. Sirius has always been a master of seduction.

"It wasn't like that," Sirius says softly. 

Remus's breath steadies and his eyes slide closed when Sirius's fingers skirt down his shoulder, sending a familiar thrill through their skin, their touching a mutual seduction.

"I gave him firewhiskey," Sirius whispers, stepping closer. "We were drunk." Sirius's lips brush against Remus's cheek, hands loosely covering his shoulders. "I ran my hand against his thigh." Sirius does just that. "And I asked if he was interested." Sirius's tongue darts out and touches the shell of Remus's ear. "He was." Sirius pulls Remus to the bed, their legs tangling as they fumble—a familiar walk as they almost fall, the other always helping and holding them both upright. 

Remus closes his eyes and feels the need to cry, but no tears come.

Sirius sits Remus on the bed and kneels before him. "This didn't happen," he says. He leans over and licks Remus's inner thigh. His tongue is warm and rough and the swath quickly chills. He licks Remus over and over and over until Remus thinks his mouth must be dry.

Remus places a hand in the soft hair. He grips it, half wanting to tear it, wanting to cause pain. "Only do what happened." His voice is raw, how it sounds after the full moon—or more specifically, how it sounded when he found out Sirius was being sent to Azkaban. Even against the deaths of his friends, what everyone believed about Sirius, he still mourned his lover.

Sirius swallows and stands. His face is stony; he's hurt that Remus won't let him deviate. Remus doesn't care about Sirius's spontaneity right now. 

"It was fast. Clothes off, quick work." He pushes Remus to his back. For a second Remus rebels and then realizes, no, he's not Remus right now; he's the other. The other wanted it fast and furious the way Sirius is grinding against him now—no love, no devotion, no emotion save for desire.

"Were you attracted to him?" The question is forced from Remus's lungs more than asked.

"He was all right," Sirius grunts. "Older, but a bit younger than he looked; that reminded me of you." Sirius pushes away the brown and gray hair from Remus's sweaty face, a smile playing on his lips. Remus closes his eyes against the touch, enjoying the intimacy of that moment, the stark contrast against the impersonal thrusting of cocks brushing against each other.

"I bit him." Sirius grimaces. "Hard."

Remus nods. Sirius looks worried, embarrassed. That is what bothers Remus—Sirius is embarrassed; he couldn't trust this to Remus. 

"Do it."

Sirius bends over and latches his jaws on to Remus's shoulder. The bite is stinging and painful, but there is an undercurrent of pleasure. His cock swells, his brain shuts off, the primitive part of him sits up and howls.

"Harder," he grunts. And Sirius complies, wrapping his arms around Remus, jaws tightening, piercing. Remus wants to cry, to scream, to come—he does all three.

Sirius releases Remus's shoulder and slides through the come for a few more thrusts and then stiffens as his own orgasm takes him. "Remus," he sighs.

"Sirius," Remus sleepily replies. He feels drained—no orgasm has ever taken him like that. He presses a cool hand to his cheek, the tear tracks heating against his flesh.

Sirius lifts off Remus, the come webbing between their stomachs. 

"It wasn't quite like that," Sirius says softly. He stares at the mess between them. "He bit me—"

Remus surges forward, grabbing Sirius's face and kissing him soundly. Remus crushes their lips together, insistent, driving, passionate, desperate. His tongue fights into Sirius's mouth and tastes firewhiskey and breath mints—like Sirius tried to hide some of the smell. There are more tastes, something that reminds Remus of autumn leaves and then something sweet, chocolate. Remus wants to keep tasting, keep Sirius from saying anything more because if he says more Remus will remember that Sirius didn't trust him, didn't love him enough.

Oxygen becomes necessary. They pull back, panting.

"I didn't—"

"Shut up."

Sirius complies. He starts to pull away, but Remus holds him steady. The come between them is cold and makes Remus flinch every time it slides to a new place on his skin. He kisses Sirius again in short bursts, like he's using a damp towel to dab up spots he missed from a spilled drink; it doesn't have as much effect as he'd like but there are little repairs being made.

"I didn't kiss him," Sirius whispers. "And I called your name."

Remus nods. The words are soothing but Remus doesn't want to hear them. "I know, Padfoot."

Sirius's eyes slide closed and he shudders, his lips curling slightly in a look like pained relief. Remus feels the tension release from his body and _knows_ —Sirius never meant for this to happen and he's sorry for it; desperate for Remus, he still needs Remus. It's why Sirius told him about it immediately. Sirius couldn't bring that secret to their bed.

Remus reaches a hand across his chest and feels the tender, wet bruise on his shoulder. "We match." He touches the bruise at Sirius's neck. His fingers trace the faint outline of teeth—four across the top, four across the bottom. He wonders if he could find that mouth—if he could do a spell that would lead him to the man who bit his Padfoot. What would he do to him? What would Remus do to the man who had led Sirius astray for a few hours, minutes? 

Why would Remus even want to find him, meet him, look him in the eye?

He guides Sirius down and fits his mouth over the bruise.

"Moony, you don't—"

Remus bites down into the wound, matching his teeth as best he can, hopefully obscuring the marks enough to alleviate the temptation. He doesn't apply too much pressure; he doesn't want to hurt Sirius, knows the wound must be tender, and there are the other concerns, the lycanthropy.

He pulls away. Sirius's eyes are big and grey, soft, touched; a look only for Remus.

"You were with me all night," Remus says, his decision made. 

Sirius smiles slightly. Their voices are softened by their emotions, like lit lamps barely keeping away the night. "I can make it happen. I'd want to read up on memory charms. . . ."

Remus holds a finger to his lips. "We need to remember." He strokes Sirius's hair, trailing the ends between his fingers. "I need you to remember."

Sirius nods, tucking his head under Remus's chin.


End file.
